


Lockdown Blues

by flawedamythyst



Category: Marvel
Genre: Coronavirus, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Quarantine, Social Isolation, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23545999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Clint goes into isolation, and does not cope as well as he'd expected.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 96
Kudos: 485





	Lockdown Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's the Winterhawk Coronavirus fic that no one needed. Sorry, guys. Huge love and thanks to Nny and CB as usual.

_“Hey, sorry for the group message, they’re the worst, but I’m lazy. You know how I had a cough, and Steve got all glarey and insisted on getting me tested? Yeah, I got corona. Don't go getting all panicked about it, my symptoms are all mild and I’m just gonna sit at home wrapped in a blanket while Steve glares at me some more, but, uh. Sorry, guys, you’re everyone I’ve been in close physical contact with in the last week or two - and wow, that Avengers-wide physical combat training session seems pretty stupid now, right? Ah, stop making that face Steve, you’ll freeze like it - anyway, yes, this is me officially letting you know that you need to self-isolate for fourteen days. Sorry! Have fun!”_

Clint pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it with betrayal, then replayed the message in case his hearing aids had fucked up and Tony had said something completely different, like, “Good news! There’s no way you have to spend two weeks alone in your shitty apartment which you’re just realising doesn’t have a whole hell of a lot of food in it!”

Nope, the second runthrough was just as depressing as the first one.

Clint took a deep breath and pressed the phone to his forehead. It was only in the last couple of days that he’d properly realised that this pandemic thing was going to be an actual Thing. Before that, it had felt like it was all over in China and Europe, a long way from home, and he didn’t have to pay attention to things like social distancing. Yesterday had been when it had sunk in far enough for him to start making actual plans, mostly for his tenants. There weren’t any older folks in the building at the moment, but he had taken the time to run a cloth and some disinfectant over various hand rails and door handles, and had been considering some kind of communal grocery shopping plan for if New York got put on lockdown.

He hadn’t got much further than that though, and now he’d run out of time because of course fucking Tony Stark, who travelled the world shaking hands and getting up close to strangers, had got the fucking thing.

First things first. Clint sent a text back to Tony acknowledging the message and wishing him well with both the virus and Steve’s tendency toward the aggressive kind of mother henning. Then he sent a text to Kate telling her to keep hold of Lucky for now and not to come around, and also that maybe the Young Avengers were going to have to step up for a bit because all the actual Avengers were possible plague-carriers.

And then he sat on the sofa, put his face in his hands, and let out the frustrated groan that had been building up in his chest ever since he’d first heard the message.

_Fuck._

He allowed himself three minutes of total frustration then forced himself up, because he had two weeks to wallow in misery but some things he needed to get sorted now. He went and washed his hands, which was almost certainly a lost cause because the training session had been two days ago and it had been _very_ physical. Every so often Steve planned a training session with the obvious intention of getting to manhandle Tony as much as possible, and then tried to cover it by getting the rest of them to do the same in the name of ‘improving everyone’s close combat skills’. Clint had wrestled every Avenger, got all up close and personal with them on the exercise mats, sweating and grunting and leaking fluids everywhere.

The more he thought about it, the grosser it seemed. At the time, he’d loved every minute though, especially when he’d been paired with Bucky for the ground holds because there was nothing quite like having an excuse to have those sexy supersoldier thighs wrapped around his waist.

He spent way longer than twenty seconds washing his hands as he thought about that, and then drifted into possible ways to feel those thighs without having to use the excuse of sparring. Or maybe it would start with sparring, and then Bucky would look down at Clint with that smug little smirk, palms pressed to Clint’s chest, then lean in real slowly until their mouths were less than an inch apart, and-

As usual, reality brought Clint crashing back down when he tried to stretch the fantasy too far. There was no way Bucky would want that with Clint. They were just friends. Good friends, sure, and maybe it made Clint’s heart ache a little more every time Bucky stood up to go home after one of their movie nights, slapping Clint’s shoulder like the good buddies they were, but that was just how it went. Just having him in Clint’s life was enough.

And if Clint told himself that often enough, maybe one of these days it would stick.

He found a cloth and some spray and vaguely wiped the bits of the flat that he probably touched more than others, then the outside door handle on the front door. He considered it for a moment, then went back inside and made a little sign to stick to the door.

_Plague House_   
_Do Not Enter_   
_If you need any landlording, text me._

That would have to do.

He went to the kitchen and checked his supplies. Plenty of coffee and a spare box of filters, excellent, he was set.

He went back to the lounge and sat down and…

Wow.

He’d been perfectly happy to spend the evening alone with a beer and _Dog Cops_ , but now he knew he didn’t have a choice if he wanted to go out instead, the evening stretched out in front of him, flat and empty.

The entire two weeks did. Fuck, even if he started rewatching _Dog Cops_ from the beginning, that was still only going to see him through the first week.

He slumped in place, staring blankly at the TV screen, then fumbled out his phone again.

_This is bullshit, right?_ he sent to Natasha.

Her reply only took a moment to come back. _I’m rather looking forward to it. I’m going to get some reading done._

A second later a photo came through, of Natasha carefully posed in a large, jacuzzi-style bath, surrounded by bubbles and holding a flute of champagne. There was a book propped open on the side of the bath.

Clint thought about his own cramped bath that he had to scrunch up in just to fit inside and scowled at his phone. He could have had a fancy apartment in the Tower if he wanted, but this place was his. He’d fought for it, and he wasn’t about to go abandoning it for a billionaire’s penthouse.

Fuck it, he’d be fine. It was only two weeks, he’d done much worse, and for longer. He went and got himself a beer and defiantly turned on _Dog Cops_. He’d be able to keep himself entertained. He’d spent most of his life alone, after all, one way or another.

****

Four days later, he was lying on the floor, staring up at the sky through the window and going out of his fucking mind.

He’d watched an entire season of _Dog Cops_ without getting up from the sofa once, shovelling chips into his face for the whole run, but somehow ended up still feeling kinda empty.

He’d decided he needed to work out at least a bit to keep in shape, but only got as far as one press-up before realising just how gross the floor was. He’d started cleaning it only to realise the whole apartment was a mess, and so pulled out all the cleaning supplies for a full spring clean. Of course, then he’d got bored because why bother when no one else was going to see it for fourteen days?

He’d heard that doing something creative helped, so he rummaged through his box of Avengers merchandise until he’d found the Avengers adult colouring book, and started working on a two-page spread of the whole team. He hadn’t got any further than his own outfit though, because the crayons that came with the book only had one purple, and what the fuck was up with that?

He’d started trying to meal plan, following along with some hipster foodie blog until he realised he didn’t have half the stuff they considered to be ‘pantry staples’. Who the fuck just had chickpeas lying around? After going through all his cupboards, it felt more like he was on one of those shows where they give contestants a picnic basket with tofu, maple syrup, and ramen and tell them to make a gourmet meal - except in his case it’s leftover pizza, cheap beer, and corn chips with a questionable can of bean dip.

He’d given up and just eaten all the cold pizza in one go instead. Man, he regretted that so much right now, he missed pizza.

Tony had set up a group online meeting on some fancy app for all the Avengers to check in and hang out every evening over dinner, but Clint hadn’t been able to get it to work on his phone. Tony had tried to fix it for him, up until he found how old Clint’s phone was, and that he didn’t have any tablets or laptops or other devices in the house, at which point he’d just laughed slightly manically for a bit, then wished him well and hung up.

And now Clint was going out of his mind with boredom.

This was so stupid. Clint had voluntarily spent a month without seeing anyone last summer, and only left his apartment three times during it.

Well, okay, so he’d been in the middle of a pretty major depressive episode at the time, but surely that just meant he’d be able to cope better this time around? He was used to being alone, why the hell did it feel like his brain was going to start dribbling out of his ears if he didn’t get to talk to someone immediately or, fuck, _touch_ them. He’d kill for a hug right now.

His phone beeped and Clint snatched at it. Natasha had taken to sending him a selfie every day and, okay, they were always of her looking like she was having the best time on her own, reading or cooking insane Russian treats or doing ballet practice, and they kinda made Clint feel like a toad who had burrowed under a rock in comparison, but it was some form of human connection.

The message wasn’t from Natasha though, it was from Bucky.

_Hey, I’m doing a grocery runs for anyone that needs one, do you need any food?_

Clint stared at it, then replied, _Aren’t you on lockdown too?_ because he had vivid memories of Bucky being involved in the sparring session that had doomed them all to this.

_Apparently supersoldiers can’t get it or carry the virus,_ sent back Bucky. _As long as we keep washing our hands, Steve and me are all good to bring you guys care packages._

Clint sat up with excitement. Bucky was going to come here? To his apartment? And _talk to him face-to-face_?

_I need chips,_ he sent back. _And pizza, lots of pizza._ He considered for a moment then added, _And apparently chickpeas?_

_Okay, probably better if I decide what to bring,_ said Bucky. _See you in about an hour._

An hour. Clint looked around at his living room with new eyes, seeing the stack of unused cleaning supplies in the middle of the carpet, the pyramid of empty snack packets on the coffee table, and becoming aware that he hadn’t changed clothes or showered in at least 72 hours. Okay, time to move.

****

He’d washed, put on clean clothes and made the place look slightly less like it was inhabited by a trash monster, and was trying not to pace with anticipation when there was a knock on the door.

“Hey, it’s me!” called Bucky’s voice and Clint had to actively stop himself from leaping with excitement. Human interaction! Oh man!

He threw open the door to find Bucky holding three heavy-looking bags, dressed in his most-battered leather jacket, and frowning slightly at Clint’s sign. Someone had doodled a little plague doctor on it, but Clint wasn’t paying attention to that right now.

“Hi!” breathed Clint, taking in every inch of the actual real human in front of him. “Fuck, it’s good to see you.” He moved forward to take the bags but Bucky stepped back sharply before he could.

“Don’t touch,” he said. “I’ve been on the subway. Lemme come in and wash my hands.”

Clint stepped back out of the way, waving him in. “Sure,” he agreed. Another human in his living space! This got better and better.

Bucky set the bags down and took his jacket off before disappearing into the bathroom. He was in there a while, and came out rubbing a towel over his face. “Can’t be too careful,” he said.

Clint shrugged. “You realise Tony probably already infected me?” he said.

“I don’t want to be featured on Fox News as the next super-carrier,” said Bucky. “Bad enough the rest of the Avengers are all down for the count at the moment without me spreading sickness around as well.”

“Sure,” said Clint, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Hey, uh. Not to be weird, but now you’ve washed yourself down, any chance of a hug? Or just a handshake, even? Friendly shoulder slap?”

Bucky stared at him for a moment, then opened his arms, and Clint threw himself into them, clinging on and pressing into all the beautiful warmth of human contact.

“I did not see you as being the one to go off the deep end from being isolated,” said Bucky, wrapping his arms around Clint and holding on so tightly, fuck, that was incredible, everything Clint had wanted and more.

“Me neither,” said Clint. “And yet, here we are. Oh god, that’s so good.” How long could a platonic hug between bros go on before it crossed the line into desperation? Clint was willing to find out.

“Okay,” said Bucky quietly, and stroked his hand up Clint’s back. Clint actually felt himself shudder with the sensation, tension collapsing out of his muscles as he clung on tighter. They just stayed like that for long enough that Clint was pretty sure they had crossed some kinda line, but Bucky didn’t seem to be protesting so he wasn’t going to say anything.

“So, I was only meant to stop in to drop those groceries off,” said Bucky, “but you’re the last person on my list, I could stick around a bit longer? If you want?”

“Yes,” said Clint immediately, pulling back. “Please. Stay. Bucky, I’m going out of my mind, you have no idea.” 

Bucky glanced around at the apartment that maybe Clint hadn’t managed to clear up entirely in an hour, then gave the arrows buried in the ceiling in the shape of the Avengers logo a pointed look. “I think I’m getting some idea.”

“Just stay and watch a movie or something,” said Clint. “I promise I’ll try not to be too weird and eager, I just really, really want to have an actual human conversation.”

Bucky snorted with amusement. “I think you passed not being weird a while back, but okay,” he said. “I’ll hang out for a bit.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “I’m gonna have a shower first, though. I meant what I said about not wanting to be a carrier. And if I could borrow some clothes?”

The idea of Bucky wearing Clint’s clothes was enough for him to have to clear his throat and take a step back before he let things get really weird. “Uh, sure,” he said. “Go for it. You know where the towels are.”

Bucky gave him a nod and headed back to the bathroom, and Clint couldn’t resist watching him go, taking in the tight fit of his pants and the way he was a real, live, actual human in Clint’s home.

And pretty much the first person he’d have picked to have there, if he’d been given a choice of visitors.

Bucky glanced back and Clint ripped his eyes off his ass and up to his eyes. “You should wash up as well,” he said. “Probably shouldn’t have let you hug me until I’d changed.”

Clint rolled his eyes, but obediently went into the kitchen to wash his hands, humming Happy Birthday under his breath. He was able to make it come out less like a dirge and more like a party song for the first time in days.

He went to get the grocery bags and put them away. There was a good amount of frozen pizzas and a pack of beer, but Bucky had also bought vegetables and fruit, because he was a killjoy. No chickpeas though, which Clint was kinda relieved about. Now he’d started to get his equalibrium back, he was realising how little he wanted to eat anything that involved chickpeas anyway, and fuck that food blog.

Bucky came back with damp hair curling around his ears, wearing a pair of Clint’s sweatpants and a shirt he must have had to dig for, because Clint hadn’t worn it since Kate’s birthday. _I Can Make You Quiver_ it read, in neon purple letters underlined by an arrow. Clint stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Bucky, who just smirked at him.

“You gonna offer me a beer?” he asked. “Seeing as I was the one to bring them, and all?”

“Sure,” said Clint, turning away from the weird thrill of seeing Bucky in his clothes to open the fridge. “You gonna complain if I put on a couple of pizzas for us?”

“Nah, figured that was gonna happen,” said Bucky, slumping down on the sofa.

Clint grinned to himself and went to pull a couple of pizzas back out the freezer and put them in the oven.

When he headed out to take Bucky his beer, Bucky had picked something up from the table and was squinting at it. “Why is your hair purple?” he asked, and Clint realised it was the colouring book.

Great, as if he hadn’t come across as a crazy guy enough already tonight.

“You don’t think I could pull purple hair off?” he asked, holding the beer out to Bucky.

Bucky squinted up at Clint thoughtfully as he took it, his scrutiny putting Clint on edge with anticipation even though he knew it didn’t mean anything.

“Nope,” said Bucky after a breathless moment, then looked back down at the book and tossed it on the table. “I think the blond’s working for you, I wouldn’t go changing it.”

What the hell did that mean? Clint just cleared his throat and sat down beside him. “Any thoughts on what you wanna watch?”

Bucky just shrugged. “Nothing about disease,” he said, which seemed fair. 

They found something to watch, and they ate pizza and drank beer and Clint did his absolute best not to keep shifting closer to Bucky along the sofa. It was kinda hard, finally being that close to another human and feeling his skin tingling with just how good it would feel to be touched right now, and yet still trying to act like a normal person.

He clearly wasn’t very good at it, because halfway through the movie, Bucky let out a sigh, and lifted his arm. “C’mon then.”

Clint went still. “Uh, what?” he tried.

Bucky gave him an unimpressed look. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to need a cuddle after being isolated from people for a bit? Me, the guy who spent seventy years without getting one?”

Clint wasn’t going to wait for a second invitation. He scooted over, slumping down so he’d fit under Bucky’s arm, and happily snuggled in. Oh man, that felt so good.

“Just give me the rest of the movie, you can no-homo me after that,” he said, dropping his head to rest on Bucky’s chest.

“I have no idea what that means,” said Bucky, curling his arm around Clint’s shoulders to hold him in close and, wow, okay, this didn’t feel anything like bros cuddling because one of them was touch-starved, but a lot more like two guys finding their way to a first date. Maybe they wouldn’t need no-homo.

Maybe Clint was kidding himself because social isolation had driven him right round the bend. He guessed he’d find out after the movie. For now, he was going to settle in against Bucky and let himself just have this moment.

****

The movie ended and Clint didn’t want to move. If he moved, Bucky would feel like he had to go, and then Clint would be alone again. Alone with frozen pizza and beer, sure, but still alone, and there was well over a week left to go of this thing. That felt like a long time.

He tried to subtly make himself heavier, as if he could hold Bucky in place just through sheer willpower.

The credits reached the end, and Bucky cleared his throat. “It’s kinda late.”

Clint pressed closer against him. “Yep,” he agreed.

Bucky tightened his arm around Clint. “Kinda feels like maybe you don’t want me to leave.”

“Don’t know what you mean,” said Clint, clenching his fingers into Bucky’s shirt.

“Yeah,” said Bucky, sounding amused. Clint carefully wasn’t looking at his face because if he did, he had a feeling that he’d realise that this thing had gone beyond needing another human to cuddle, and dived right into indulging his crush.

“How about this?” said Bucky, after another moment’s silence. “I’m not real keen on heading back to the Tower right now, anyway. Steve’s got himself all up in one of his moods about this thing, and he’s dividing his time up between nannying Tony and tracking folks on social media who aren’t self-isolating yet. He’s sending them long, angry rants that invoke the memory of the Spanish flu a bit too often for a guy who wasn’t even a toddler at the time that came around. I’m kinda over it, frankly, because people are gonna be people, and mostly, people are stupid. Captain America leaving them a history lesson on their Facebook ain’t gonna change that.”

“It doesn’t sound great,” agreed Clint, trying to ignore the fireworks going off in his chest, because this kinda sounded like, maybe, possibly, there just might be a chance that-

“So, if you want, I could stay here with you.”

Clint sat up, turning to look at Bucky. “Seriously?” he asked, and he might be beaming heart eyes at the poor guy a little too strongly, but if he wasn’t going to have to spend any more time locked up alone, that was justified.

Bucky grinned back at him. “Yeah,” he said, and the arm around Clint’s shoulders came up to run fingers through Clint’s hair, a gentle teasing touch that made Clint shiver, and not because of touch-starvation. “If you want me to.”

“Fuck yeah, I want you too,” breathed Clint. “I’ll even let you take the bed and sleep on the couch myself.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “I’m not opposed to us just sharing the bed.”

Clint stared at him, suddenly aware that Bucky was still stroking his fingers through Clint’s hair, that he’d spent the whole movie cuddled up with him without a single word of complaint, and that he was looking extremely pleased about the whole thing. “Yeah?" he asked, letting a smile take over his face. “I think that could work.”

Bucky smiled back at him, and he looked just as pleased by this plan as Clint was, and...fuck it. You only lived once, right? Clint let himself move in closer, watching the way Bucky’s eyes tracked down to his lips and then back up, and let himself take a risk.

“Would it be reading things wrong if I kissed you?” he asked, so softly that he almost couldn’t hear himself over the hammering of his heart in his chest.

Bucky’s eyes widened and his hand tightened against the back of Clint’s head. “Not at all, doll,” he said, just as softly.

Clint wasn’t really sure who moved first, both of them falling into each other until their lips were pressed together and _fuck_ this was even better than that first hug had been, Bucky’s arms around Clint as their mouths moved together, and then Bucky tilted his head and deepened the kiss and all Clint could think about was getting as close as possible.

He climbed right into Bucky’s lap, ignoring the faint ridiculousness of their relative heights and curling over so he could still reach Bucky’s lips, stroking both his hands over his face and up into his hair. Fuck, Bucky’s thighs felt so good underneath him.

“I think I just found a great way to pass the rest of the time I’m in quarantine,” Clint said, once he’d found the willpower to pull back.

“Yeah,” said Bucky, sounding kinda dazed. “Definitely. Gotta be better than colouring pictures of yourself wrong, anyway.”

“Or eating chickpeas,” added Clint, and leaned down to kiss him again. Fuck, he could do this for days, weeks. Quarantine was going to just fly by.

Maybe he’d stay inside for an extra few days, just to be really safe.


End file.
